Care and Control
by tailkinker.au
Summary: An AU to the CollarRedux universe created by oflymondddreams. In that Universe House is a slave, while also working at PPTH. This is a sequel to my other story Pain Control. Warning for non-con, and dark themes. Contains dark!Wilson.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This fic is the sequel to my other story - Pain Control. It is set in the CollarRedux universe created by oflymondddreams although it is AU to their stories. As a quick recap of the CollarRedux universe House is a slave at PPTH while all the other regulars are not. Wilson is fairly obsessed with House. In Pain Control House had his leg amputated against his will as a means of controlling his pain. At the end of Pain Control Wilson tagged House, this story takes up straight afterwards.  
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**Warning : The CollarRedux universe is a dark one, this story will contain dark themes, including non consensual sex, physical abuse and dark!Wilson  
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**Thanks as always to Oflymonddreams for creating the CollarRedux universe and letting me play in it (and I also stole the title of this fic from one of their chapters :)  
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House stood on the office balcony, hands on the rail and stared at the entrance to the hospital below. He was four floors up, the ground below was concrete. If he could reach the ground from here all his pain would end. He'd be free at last. Except, there were suicide nets under the balcony, he'd never reach the ground, and he'd decided long ago that he wouldn't surrender in that way.

He'd scrubbed himself under the shower, trying to feel clean again, after Farring's and then the guards use of him. Then he'd obeyed Cuddy's order and reported to the groomer for a shave and hair cut. Now, dressed in clean clothes and groomed, none of his injuries could be seen. He had glanced in the mirror in a bathroom and seen a well presented slave looking back at him.

As he looked over the balcony he tried to decide, ask Wilson to tag him or not? He really had no alternative but to ask him, but for one of the few times since he'd become a slave someone had given him a choice. Wilson would only tag him if he asked. He didn't want to be tagged by Wilson, and he didn't want to give up that choice lightly.

His eyes narrowed as he saw a black van pull up and some uniformed people get out. It was a Slave Administration Centre van. The officers walked into the front entrance of the hospital. He swallowed hard, the uniform was slightly different now but he remembered people like that from the Centre, where he'd spent his first months as a slave, being taught how to be an object for other people to use.

He heard movement behind him, it was Wilson, coming out onto the balcony, that gleam in his eye that was always there when he looked at House..

"Greg, are you okay? Did Farring..."

Wilson trailed off delicately. Of course he couldn't say 'did Farring abuse you?', 'did Farring rape you?' because neither of those acts could be committed against a slave.

House grinned, a humourless grin that showed all his teeth. He didn't feel amused, he felt bleak, like the very few things he had left in life were escaping his grasp.

"You win."

Wilson did that stupid puzzled look he did so well, though he could see the man's eyes come alive with calculation.

"Sorry Greg, I'm not sure what you mean."

"I want you to tag me."

Wilson smiled, a genuine, lustful smile. The smile of a man who has had his fondest wish granted.

"You want me to tag you? What brought this on?"

"Does it matter?" House asked, weary beyond belief. "Just do it, do it now. I want you to do it now."

"You need to kneel, _I_ need you to kneel."

House looked at him, wondering if Wilson knew just how hard that would be for he handed his crutches to Wilson, and got down awkwardly, head down, hands by his side for balance. He knelt, just as he had knelt for Farring last night.

Wilson bent down and lifted his chin up. The tag was in his hands, House could read Wilson's name in bright letters on the silver metal. Wilson's hands were shaking slightly as he reached out and clipped it to the front d-ring on his collar.

"You're in my care now Greg, my care and my control. You're my responsibility. No-one besides me can use you. You're safe now."

He took his hands away and the tag remained, attached to his collar, marking him for all to see as Wilson's property. When Wilson put his arms around him he let him help him to his feet, his leg was trembling and Wilson had his crutches.

"This will be good for you Greg. I'm going to care for you, and protect you. You just have to listen to what I say now and let me help you. Now come inside and I'll get you some pain medicine and find you something to eat and drink, you look like you're about to collapse."

Wilson handed him his crutches back and House got them underneath him.

"Yes, Master."

"You don't have to call me..." Wilson started and then broke off, apparently realising that House was mocking him. Anger passed over his face briefly and then he nodded and turned to go inside.

House took a last look over the balcony, the van was still there and there was no sign of the SAC officers. He felt a shiver pass through him, an omen of something bad coming, and then shook it off.

He followed Wilson inside, into Wilson's office on his side of the balcony.

* * *

Cuddy's secretary hovered nervously in the doorway, glancing back at someone in the outer office.

"Doctor Cuddy, there are some officers from Slave Administration here to see you."

She looked up and her first thought was 'Greg'. Ridiculous really as the hospital had dozens of slaves and there was no reason to think that this visit had anything to do with Greg, or indeed any of the slaves the hospital kept. Still, it was unusual, she didn't remember the last time she'd had a visit from Slave Administration.

She glanced at her watch, she had ten minutes until her next appointment.

"I've got a little time Julie, send them in, but tell them they only have ten minutes."

Two officers entered, a man and a woman. They introduced themselves by their surnames, Reilly and Anderson.

"I know you're busy Doctor Cuddy so we will keep it short. We're looking for an escaped slave, we've tracked him to New Jersey and we have reason to believe he may seek treatment in a hospital in the area at some stage."

Cuddy was startled, an escaped slave was very rare, any that did run were usually quickly tracked down. The penalty for escaping, and for anyone who helped the escapee, was severe.

Reilly gave her a photo of a man, fairly ordinary looking except for the collar around his neck. He had that cowed look that most slaves had.

"His name is Gary, we just need to know if any of your staff have seen him, or whether he's been admitted here."

Cuddy studied the photo, she didn't remember seeing the man, but she really had little contact with any patients, except for the few she saw in the clinic when she did her weekly stint there. She handed it back.

"Patient records are confidential of course, but you can certainly ask around and see if anyone recognises him. If anyone gives you the name of a patient you can apply for a warrant to see his records."

Reilly nodded, "That's fine Doctor Cuddy. We'll speak to the nurses on each floor, they are usually the ones most likely to recognise a former patient."

Cuddy breathed a relieved sigh when they had left her office, so, nothing to do with Greg after all.

* * *

Wilson got Greg to sit down when they entered his office. Despite the fact that he'd obviously been to the groomer, and had fresh clean clothes on he looked haggard. Wilson knew he'd had little pain relief in the last few days, and probably very little good sleep. He was pleased that Greg had nonetheless made an effort to tidy himself and present himself nicely to Wilson before asking Wilson to tag him.

Well, it was now Wilson's job to take care of Greg and he was going to start right away.

He went to his desk drawer and fished out a couple of ibuprofen.

"Here, take these, I still need to speak to Cuddy about stronger pain relief for you but these should help for now. You're to come to me for your dosages as normal, every morning and evening, and I won't let anyone mess with that schedule. You need to get back to physical therapy too, you've missed that the last few days. I'll have a word with them down there about you. I don't want them physically punishing you when I'm not there."

"You want to watch?" Greg asked.

Wilson frowned at him.

"You're mine now, it's important that everyone knows that. You're still a slave, and I can't stop you being punished for bad behaviour, but I have the right to be there, to make sure you're not abused."

Greg didn't say anything, instead he swallowed the ibuprofen and sat back, absently rubbing his stump with his hands.

"I'm going to get you some breakfast, you look like you haven't eaten in a month. I'll bring you breakfast every morning, lunch and dinner at night so you don't have to go down to the slave canteen. This is going to be good Greg, we'll get you healthy again. If you can stay out of trouble, do your physical therapy and get back to the clinic and your patients I might be able to talk Cuddy into getting you fitted with a prosthetic in time. She's pretty mad at you right now, and there's a few problems with the Board, so it might be a while."

Greg was just looking at him, a wary expression in his eyes. Wilson sighed.

"Greg, you said you wanted this," he reached over to touch Greg's tag where it was proudly displayed on his collar. "Do you want me to take this off? Have you had second thoughts?"

Greg swallowed and looked away.

"No," he said in his quiet voice.

"Then you need to let me take care of you. We need to get you set in a routine, you need the discipline of that. Therapy, then breakfast, then clinic, diagnostics, lunch, diagnostics again, dinner, and then your evening clinic shift. Meds with breakfast and dinner. I'll take you home some nights, and as many weekends as I can. Sound good?"

"Peachy."

"Okay, now lie down on the couch for a bit. I'm going to get you some breakfast, and then you can have a sleep here while I do rounds. Take it easy today unless a patient comes in."

"Okay."

Wilson watched Greg as he stretched out on the couch. He still looked anxious and on edge.

Wilson left quietly. Greg was like a wild animal that had to be tamed, domesticated. It would take time to earn his trust and devotion but Wilson had all the time in the world, he wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

Doctor Morton was writing up a chart at the nurse's station when the man came in. He was wearing a uniform and as he got closer she could see the badge - Slave Administration Centre, New Jersey. As far as she knew the officers of the Centre worked with newly created slaves, bringing them in initially, and also preparing them for their lives as slaves. Like most free people she had almost no idea of what went on in the Centres, they mostly kept the process very quiet.

There was a slave working in the bathroom by the station, quietly cleaning it. The slaves did them frequently, they were generally very unobtrusive and did a thorough job. Morton often thought of them as little mice, scurrying through the hospital, cleaning it. This one had just come out the door when the officer walked past him. The slave seemed to freeze and then fell to his knees, clasping his hands behind his back and lowering his gaze to the floor. Morton had never seen one of the hospital slaves react quite like that before. They would kneel if requesting something from someone or when being talked to, but when they were passing free people in the corridor they were only required to keep their gaze down and be respectful, otherwise they would never get any work done.

The officer's glance swept over the kneeling slave but he didn't stop. Once he had passed the slave gathered his cleaning equipment and hurried off in the opposite direction, casting a fearful glance over his shoulder as he went.

The officer stopped at the station where Morton was working and produced identification.

"I'm looking for an escaped slave we believe may have come to this hospital recently. This is his photo."

Morton took the photo, the man looked familiar and after a moment she realised why, it was Stephen, the patient Doctor House had been treating only a day ago. Stephen had discharged himself from hospital this morning, against his doctor's advice. He'd seemed to be in a hurry, now she knew why.

She hesitated over the photo, unsure whether she should admit to the officer that she knew him.

"We're not asking for confidential details Doctor, we just need to know if he's been here."

"Yes, yes he has." Morton admitted. "He's not here any more though, he discharged himself an hour or so ago."

"Damn. Do you know where he was going, who he was with?"

"No, he didn't say, he was with his parents I believe."

"Can you tell me what name he was using?"

"Yes, it was Stephen."

"And why he was hospitalized?"

Morton shook her head.

"No, I'm sorry, not without authorisation, patient records are confidential. You'll need a warrant to request those."

The officer frowned at her.

"I'm not asking for his full medical history, just his symptoms He's an escaped slave, you _do know_ what the penalty is for aiding and abetting an escaped slave? If anyone was convicted of that they would be enslaved themselves."

"I'm sorry, I can't release patient names and records." Morton repeated.

"Slaves aren't protected by patient confidentiality."

"He wasn't admitted as a slave. You'll need a warrant."

The officer sighed.

"Okay doc, heard you the first time. I'll get the warrant and we'll be back for his medical file. Once we've captured him we'll find out if anyone here knew about his status, he's a slave, you'd think one of you doctors would have noticed."

"I assure you he wasn't wearing a collar," Morton smiled. "Now, if there's nothing further..."

"No, not for now, we'll be talking to you again soon."

Once the officers were out of sight Morton pulled the file up on the computer. Stephen's attending was listed as Doctor Farring. Under consulting doctors there was a long list, including herself and all of the diagnostic fellows - and the name on the end of that list was written in the correct format for all to see, Greg House M.D (slave).

If the SAC officers wanted someone to interrogate they didn't have to look any further than that name.

* * *

Wilson was in the cafeteria when he ran into Doctor Cuddy. He greeted her warmly and she raised an eyebrow.

"You seem chipper Doctor Wilson, have you had good news?"

"I've tagged Greg."

"Ahhh, so we should be seeing some improvement in his behavior then?"

"I'm planning on making sure that he feels well cared for so he won't have to act out like he has been doing. He's had a rough time with Doctor Farring, I think he realises now that this is in his best interest."

"Farring won't be happy, watch your back."

Wilson smiled, nothing was going to spoil his mood today, he wasn't concerned about Farring. He went along the cafeteria line, piling his tray high with goodies for Greg. Cuddy watched the growing pile.

"Hungry, Doctor Wilson?"

"Greg hasn't been eating well lately." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and then looked back at the food and then up at Cuddy's sardonic smile. He could tell she was wondering who was the slave here. "Well, it's not like he can come and get it himself, and he doesn't like the slave canteen..."

"Of course. He's yours Doctor Wilson, you may do what you like with him, on the proviso it doesn't interfere with his duties as a doctor in this hospital. Just be aware that his behaviour will now reflect upon you. There will be people watching, and judging."

"I can handle Greg," Wilson said confidently.

"I hope you can."

* * *

Doctor Farring received a brief phone call that morning from Doctor Cuddy's assistant, Doctor Cuddy would not have time to meet with him that afternoon as she had suggested. This was followed by an email to all PPTH staff that the diagnostics slave Greg had been tagged by the head of Oncology, Doctor Wilson so that all complaints about Greg, or requests for Greg's services should proceed through Doctor Wilson's office rather than straight to Doctor Cuddy's office.

Farring deleted the email angrily. Only this morning Doctor Cuddy had been all but promising to allow him to tag Greg, now Wilson had done it first, presumably with her permission. Doctor Cuddy had allowed him to have Greg in his department and then to take him out of the hospital for the night. She had never allowed that before, not for anyone but that woman who had tagged him years ago.

Now he wondered if she had been playing he and Wilson off against each other and had never had any intention of considering his request to be allowed to tag Greg.

He wanted that slave. He was perfect, just what he had always wanted. He'd been looking forward to many nights with him, bringing him under perfect discipline. Now he couldn't even touch him, Wilson had exclusive sexual rights to him. He could request his services for his department, but that would be like having a toy you couldn't play with. Although, he would be allowed to punish him, if Wilson was there as well. He'd seen the look in Wilson's eyes when he'd been whipping Greg with the belt, he didn't think Wilson would object to watching more of Greg's punishments.

In fact, he thought Wilson might rather enjoy it.

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A/N -** If you enjoyed this chapter I would love to hear from you, anonymous reviews are turned on :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chase came into work at midday. Like the other fellows he'd taken the morning off, they always did after finishing a case. He'd gone out with Foreman and Cameron the previous night to celebrate Foreman's birthday but the celebration had fizzled out quickly. House had been taken away by Farring last night, they'd seen him being stuffed into a car, bound and gagged as they had headed home at the end of the day. After seeing how Farring had treated House in his department over the past couple of days Chase wondered how their boss would be this morning, or if he'd even be there.

As he entered the diagnostics offices Chase noticed the tag immediately. House was sitting at the head of the conference table, with a blue file folder in front of him. He looked up as Chase came into the office, the tag lying against his collarbone, standing out against his pale skin.

Chase froze, surely Farring hadn't tagged House?

"To save you straining your eyes trying to read the writing it's Wilson's tag."

"Oh, um..." Chase was floundering, what exactly did you say to a slave who'd just been tagged. He guessed that he could congratulate Wilson next time he saw him. It didn't seem quite appropriate to congratulate House.

"Oh, um.." House mocked him. "I'll be sure to pass on that sentiment to Wilson. He'll be thrilled at your approval."

Chase was saved from further 'conversation' by the arrival of Foreman and Cameron. Both of them looked uncomfortable at the sight of House's tag dangling down from his collar.

Cameron blushed and then stammered out.

"You're looking nice Doctor House, did you have a haircut?"

"Wilson likes his slaves to look presentable, don't you know?"

"Do we have a case?" Foreman said, letting out one of his heavy sighs and pretending that he wasn't at all interested in who might or might not have tagged House.

"Yes Doctor Foreman we do, thank God we have you here to bring us all back on track. Cameron and I were about to swap hairdressing tips."

Chase happened to be looking at House when the outer door to the conference room opened and he caught a glimpse of apprehension on his face as he realised who was coming in.

"Sorry Master, your slave is just running a differential, I'll come run your bath another time. Bit busy at the moment." House's voice was steady but Chase detected just a hint of bravado there. Wilson pursed his lips in annoyance and then after he glanced at the fellows, his expression smoothed out.

"No bath right now, maybe later."

Wilson took a seat at the conference table.

"Carry on."

Chase glanced at Foreman and Cameron. Although Wilson frequently wandered in and out of diagnostics he didn't normally take a seat at the differential.

"Patient isn't presenting with lumps anywhere and doesn't appear to be dying just at the moment, we don't need a cancer consult." House said, his eyes never leaving Wilson.

Wilson smiled and lent back in his chair.

"Good, not here to give one. _Carry on_." There was a steely emphasis on the last two words from the usually mild Wilson and Chase looked down at the table, clearly Wilson was asserting his new authority over House. He resisted looking back at House as if he was a spectator at a particularly interesting tennis match.

There was a tense pause and then House spoke.

"Twenty three year old male, sudden onset of the uncontrollable urge to urinate in public places and cut off all his hair..."

The differential continued as normal, with House mocking their ideas and then sending them on their way. Doctor Wilson offered a couple of suggestions which House ignored. The fellows fled the tense atmosphere of the office as soon as they could.

Out in the corridor, and out of sight of the office, they looked at each other.

"If we're going to have Wilson second guessing us now..." Foreman started and Chase interrupted.

"House won't let him, that's always been his big thing - that he gets to run diagnostics."

"_Greg _won't have a choice," Foreman said "Wilson's tagged him. Wilson can do whatever he likes now."

"Doctor House will go to Cuddy." Cameron asserted. "She'll put a stop to it."

"The same Cuddy who had him gagged? The same Cuddy who sent him to work for that lunatic Farring? The same one who _had his leg cut off _because he was annoying her?"

Chase had to concede that Foreman had a point, Cuddy would do whatever she thought was best for the hospital and for herself, not what was best for House.

* * *

House watched the fellows leave quickly, their relief on getting out of here was almost comical. He didn't smile. He needed to get this sorted out with Wilson, he couldn't have him hovering over him when he was doing his job.

"You don't need to sit in on differentials."

Wilson smiled. "I don't _need_ to Greg, I want to."

"Well I don't want you to. I need them to listen to what I say. If you're sitting there because you have me tagged I'll lose whatever respect they have for me."

"I do have a job as well Greg, a job where I have more than one patient at a time, I won't be sitting in on every differential. I will however be receiving copies of all paperwork for this department, and all patient files, I'll be monitoring what you're doing."

House felt a deep bleakness settle over him. The autonomy he held in the Diagnostics department had kept him going for years. Doctor Cuddy had set it up so that _he_ was in charge in these two offices. She'd realised that it would only work like that. He'd agreed to be tagged by Wilson partly because of the threat of diagnostics being moved under Farring's control. Now he seemed to have escaped that only for Wilson to start trying to control his work.

"You can't interfere with my work, I have autonomy in Diagnostics."

"I don't want to interfere Greg, I'm just going to monitor, make sure you don't get into any more trouble, or make any wrong decisions."

"I don't need you to monitor me. I was a doctor when you were still stressing out over whether you got a date for the prom."

"Remember what I said when I tagged you? You're in my care, and under my control. I take responsibility for you, you can't expect me to take responsibility unless I have control. I'm not going to stop you doing your job, but I am going to make sure your decisions are good ones. Your life has got a little out of your control lately, Greg."

"My life's been out of my control for fifteen years!" He shouted, all his anger coming out. "Since they hauled me away in cuffs and put this around my neck," he tugged at the collar around his neck, sending the tag jangling against his skin. "This," he waved his hand around the conference room, "this is all I have left."

Wilson came over to him, patting him on the arm in what House guessed was supposed to be a comforting manner.

"I'm not going to take this away from you, Greg. I can't do what you do, I just want to help, that's all. Care and control - the food I brought for you this morning, that was me caring for you. I want to care for you, I want to help you take care of yourself."

"And in return for your _caring," _House spat the word out as if it was an obscenity, "all I have to do is give control of my life to you."

Wilson smiled and gave him another pat on the shoulder.

"As you said Greg, you lost control of your life a long time ago. It's better that I control it, rather than someone like Farring isn't it? Now, you'd better get on with your case and I'll go back to work."

When Wilson had left, House struggled onto his crutches and made his way to his little cubbyhole of an office. He wasn't supposed to during work hours but he lay down on his bunk and stared at the ceiling. He was exhausted despite the little nap this morning and the food Wilson had bought him. His whole body ached from where Farring had flogged him, and caned him, and _used_ him. The dark depression that had engulfed him when Stacy left was coming back. She had treated him like a human being, rather than a piece of diagnostics equipment and even she had left in the end, unable to see a future with a slave. Wilson saw a future with a slave, and it was obviously a future he liked the look of.

House closed his eyes, meaning to just rest until the fellows came back.

* * *

Doctor Morton had never ventured near the diagnostics offices before, few people did unless they had a real reason to be there. There was something a little awkward about a fellow doctor being a slave. Slaves were mostly used for menial labour, for cleaning and laundry, things like that. There were a few slaves in the labs and a few in admin but they mostly kept to themselves and she'd be hard put to put a name any of them. Everyone in the hospital knew about the diagnostics slave Greg though. He'd been in the hospital for years and his odd position was mostly accepted and understood. Still, no-one had any great desire to be friendly with him. He was a slave after all.

Now she'd met Greg though, and worked with him, seen how brilliant he was. She's also seen him being whipped, and in pain and exhausted. He'd become a real person to her. She felt she had to warn him about their former patient, Stephen, being exposed as an escaped slave.

The outer conference room was empty and she walked through to the small office at the back. It appeared to be empty as well but as she looked in she could see a narrow bunk in the back. Greg was stretched out on it, sleeping.

She studied him for a moment. He looked better than the last time she'd seen him. His hair had been cut short and he was clean shaven. Some of the lines of pain had smoothed out in his sleep and his clothes hid the damage to his back. He had on a fresh pair of jeans which concealed his stump, the ends tacked up below his knee.

She turned to go, thinking she'd phone him later but his eyes snapped open and he stared at her, his expression wary.

"Come to gawk at the crippled slave?"

She felt a flush of anger, she was here doing him a favour after all, but then she saw the way he glanced past her, at the open door as if gauging the distance. She wondered how many times he'd been cornered in his office by people wanting to 'play' with the slave in the past. She'd heard that his office was off limits, if you wanted this slave you had to wait until you caught him away from it, but there were some people that sort of rule wouldn't deter.

He reached out for his crutches and hauled himself upright on them, wincing with pain. As he lifted his chin she could see the tag dangling down from his collar, something else that hadn't been there yesterday.

She felt cold fear. She knew Farring was obsessed with Greg and had taken him away from the hospital last night. Had he tagged Greg?

"Wilson, not Farring," he said shortly. "Apparently the cancer doc wants a slave to take care of, who would have thought it?"

He sounded bitter. She'd met Wilson, had called him to bring Greg his pain medication and the oncologist had also provided a meal and cared for Greg's injuries. It didn't seem like he meant Greg any harm, she wasn't sure why Greg sounded so angry about it.

"Well, it's been nice chatting with you but have to go, dying patient you know..."

He seemed about to leave so she blurted out the news she'd come here with.

"Stephen was an escaped slave. Some officers from the SAC were here, they had his photo, were showing it around. I told them I recognised him."

Greg's face was stony, expressionless.

"Good for you. Can't have slaves escaping all over the place, next thing you know they'll be wanting the vote."

"I didn't give them his file."

"They'll get a warrant and come back."

"You were one of his doctors, they might want to interview you..."

He cocked his head, and gave a little humourless laugh.

"Interview, that's one word for it..."

"No-one knew of course, if we had known we would have contacted the authorities at once.."

"Of course," Greg agreed, nodding his head.

"But I just thought I should let you know."

"Okay, good. I'll make sure I hide his collar somewhere they won't find it."

She looked at him uncertainly and he grinned, a grotesque caricature of an expression.

"Just kidding."

"Doctor House..."

Morton turned to see the three fellows hovering in the doorway.

"Ah...duty 'll excuse me Doctor Morton? Dying patient, remember."

"Actually he's not dying at the moment," Doctor Cameron said, "we have him stabilised and we think we know what it is..."

"No, it's not."

Doctor Cameron looked annoyed.

"We haven't told you what we think it is yet."

"Just the fact that you and dumb and dumber all think it is the same thing is a guarantee that you are wrong. But just for shit and giggles let's all sit down and you can tell me all about it. Doctor Morton, you'll excuse us? We've had our quota of special guests today."

She nodded, she'd done what she came for, it wasn't her fault now if the shit hit the fan when the officers came back tomorrow.

As she left the office the three younger doctors were outlining their theory to Greg, all talking at once.

She passed Doctor Wilson in the hallway, coming back to his office. He looked annoyed momentarily when he saw her and then he smiled.

"Doctor Morton? Everything okay?"

"Yes, thank you Doctor Wilson."

"Was there something you needed Greg for?"

She was about to tell him but then changed her mind, it had little to do with him anyway.

"Just some paperwork on the case he assisted on," she lied smoothly and he nodded.

"Greg isn't keen on paperwork. I've tagged him now so let me know if you need anything further and I'll make sure it gets done."

His words chilled her, he seemed so sure of his control of Greg. She nodded and moved on, as she entered the elevator she turned to see Doctor Wilson studying her from his office doorway.


	3. Chapter 3

Eric Foreman had never intended to end up working for a slave. His own family had been poor, his brother and he had both gotten into trouble with the police a few times, Marcus had ended up in jail on drug charges. The Foreman family had gone perilously close to bankruptcy and being sold into slavery themselves. When he was sixteen years old Eric had gone as far as finding out how much he would fetch, whether it would be enough to relieve the family's debt, then he'd approached his father and suggested that solution. His father had been furious. No child of his was being sold into slavery he'd said and that had been the end of that. Eric had managed to secure a part time job and his mother had picked up some extra work and they'd managed, just barely.

So Foreman at first had little sympathy for Greg House, who was white, came from a middle class, military background and had, according to rumours, been sold into slavery because he'd been too busy getting drunk, gambling and shooting up to pay his bills. Slavery was the best option for someone like that, someone who couldn't take responsibility for his own life. At the hospital he was gainfully employed, cured of all his addictions and cared for. He was contributing to society rather than leeching off it.

Foreman had never had this sort of close contact with a slave before, he suspected that most people hadn't. Despite his best efforts not to feel anything for the man, and Greg made that easy with his obnoxious manner, there were little things that he couldn't ignore. Once he'd seen them he couldn't forget them. He'd see the whip marks that criss-crossed Greg's back, he'd seen him be led off to receive a whipping, and had seen him coming back from one. He'd seen blood staining his shirt from the lash marks on his back.

He'd seen the security guards fucking Greg's face, heard other doctors in the hospital talking about what a great blow job the 'diagnostics slave' gave. He'd seen him gagged, seen him be worked to exhaustion in the clinic, seen the small bunk he called home. Most of all he'd stood by while Doctor Cuddy had ordered the man's leg cut off, because Greg was becoming an inconvenience.

Now he saw the little tag hanging down from his collar, the tag that declared that someone had sole sexual rights to him. In theory that little tag saved him from unwanted sexual advances from everyone else in the hospital. But Foreman had seen the predatory gleam in Doctor Wilson's eyes when he looked at House and knew the tag was just another chain around Greg's neck.

So Eric Foreman had come to have a grudging respect for the slave who could bear all this, and still save lives.

Still, that didn't make working with,_for_, the guy any easier.

"What are we doing here, Greg?"

Foreman was the only fellow who addressed House as 'Greg' when he could, which was whenever they weren't in the diagnostics office or with a patient. He didn't know if Greg cared or not, probably not, but he kept doing it. It was one thing that set him apart from Cameron and Chase anyway, they would never dare to.

They were in the long-term coma patient ward. Four comatose patients, hooked up to life support equipment. There was something a little creepy about being in here, not quite like sitting around in the morgue but not far from it. Greg had paged them to meet him here.

"We're doing a differential of course Doctor Foreman," Greg said with that stupid wide eyed expression, "that young man's life depends on us you know."

Foreman gritted his teeth, refusing to play Greg's games was the best way to deal with him. Other than applying a cane to his ass, or a gag to his mouth, but unfortunately he couldn't do that.

"Why are we here, not in our office?"

"It's very important that coma patients have outside stimulation, we're doing essential work here, they should pay us extra for this."

"They don't pay you at all," Foreman snapped at him.

"Helping people is my only reward," Greg rejoined with a fake sincere tone. "Now, if we are finished discussing _where_ we are doing the differential maybe we can _do_ the differential? Before poor Tom shuffles off this mortal coil."

"Alex," Cameron offered earnestly, "the patient's name is Alex, not Tom."

Foreman shook his head, you would think Cameron would have learnt by now.

Greg brought one of crutches down across the coma patient's bed, rocking it. The fellows all instinctively looked at the comatose man in the bed but he didn't stir.

"Differential! Now!" Greg yelled.

When they had finished the differential and Cameron and Chase had gone off on their errands, Foreman looked at Greg. He was slumped in a visitor's chair.

"You really shouldn't be here," Foreman said, "you could get reported."

Greg lifted his chin.

"What's it matter to you if I get into trouble or not?"

Foreman shrugged, "you're no good to anyone when you're down in the recovery ward. I'd rather not have to cover your clinic shifts again."

"Well, you can't always get what you want, can you _Eric_?"

Foreman almost stormed out, but then took another look at the shiny tag hung from his collar, he remembered Wilson's unsettling presence in the conference room earlier. Suddenly he knew what they were doing in the coma guy's room.

"You can't hide from him forever."

Greg lurched up to balance himself on his crutches, then made his way to the door. Foreman thought he was going to say something but instead he just barrelled past him and made his way down the hallway.

Foreman shook his head, it was none of his business what was between Greg and Doctor Wilson but he could smell trouble brewing.

For about the hundredth time since he started working here he began to think about updating his resume.

Wilson perused the hospital's personnel files carefully. He'd already memorised Doctor Farring's file, made note that he had been let go from two hospitals in the past. Both had cited an excess of staff as the reason, but Wilson had dug further and noticed that both had hired another doctor in the same position shortly after Farring left them. He filed that information away for further investigation, he suspected that Farring wouldn't be happy with losing Greg, and he wanted to have some ammunition ready in case the senior doctor tried to come after him. Or even if he didn't - Farring had taken Greg away from the hospital last night, and no doubt had used him harshly, Greg was Wilson's now and he wasn't above getting a little revenge on Greg's behalf for the treatment he had suffered at Farring's hands.

Next he turned to Doctor Morton's file. She had seemed harmless enough when he had met her during Greg's case, had even arranged for him to bring medication and food to Greg, risking Farring's wrath. Still, she'd been sniffing around Greg's office this morning, and he didn't like that. She had no reason to be down here, let alone on some spurious 'paperwork' excuse.

His eyes widened when he read about Morton's amputation and artificial leg, he'd thought something had been a bit 'off' about her gait but put it down to a muscle injury. He checked her date of hiring, yes, shortly after Farring was hired, and she'd been made his second in command very rapidly thereafter. Not surprising, Farring had a fairly obvious amputee fetish - Wilson remembered those cut off jeans that Greg had been wearing while in his department, obviously crudely cut off to expose his stump. Of course Farring couldn't require the same from Morton, she was a person not a slave, but Wilson would bet they had some sort of side arrangement going on.

Wilson sat back in his chair, he'd keep an eye on the situation, dig around and ask a few questions, see if he could find out a bit more about Doctor Morton but now it was time to check on Greg. He and his team had been conspicuous by their absence all afternoon, they had a patient but hadn't been in the conference room at all since that first meeting this morning. He glanced at the clock, it was past six, time to feed Greg anyway. He'd had something sent in today, after this he would keep some meals here for Greg that could be heated up.

The only problem was that he didn't know where Greg was at the moment, but that was easily solved. He picked up his phone and requested security to find the diagnostics slave and have him sent to his office. Picking up a patient file he started to review it while he waited for Greg to be brought to him.

Wilson looked up as the wheelchair was pushed into his office. Greg was sitting in it, staring at the ground. His wrists were cuffed to the arms of the chair, his leg shackled to the footrest. A security guard was pushing the chair while another carried a pair of crutches.

"Here's the slave that you wanted Doctor Wilson, sorry it took a while, he was down in the slave canteen, getting his dinner. We're not allowed to take slaves away from their meals," the guard rolled his eyes at what no doubt he regarded as a silly rule pampering the slaves. "Had to wait until he finished eating."

"That's fine, can you please unshackle him? I didn't mean for you to restrain him, or put him in a chair, I just wanted him up here. You could have just told him to come."

"Sorry Doc, standard procedure with this one, if anyone wants him, we get him there as quickly as we can with or without his cooperation," the guard bent over Greg and removed the cuffs and shackle. "Do you want us to leave these with you?"

Wilson waved them away. "That won't be necessary, and take the chair as well. Thanks for bringing him up. Stand up, Greg."

Greg took his crutches off the other guard and lurched to a standing position, still studying the floor intently.

"Any time, Doc, and if he gives you any trouble you can always call the nearest security station, we know how to handle him." The security guard gave a nonchalant wave, gathered up his partner and left.

Wilson looked at Greg who was still studying the floor. "Greg, why did you go to the slave canteen? I said I would be supplying your meals."

Greg finally looked up, lifting his chin as he spoke.

"I'm supposed to go to the slave canteen for dinner and breakfast, it's in my list of instructions - didn't Cuddy give you a copy? You know when you buy a new toy you should always read the instructions."

She had actually emailed Wilson a copy of Greg's 'contract' earlier that day, a detailed list of things that Greg could and couldn't do, and the minimum standard of care the hospital was required to provide for him, eight hours sleep a day, one hour a day spent outdoors, two meals a day, and adequate medical care. There was also an enticing section called 'discipline' which laid out the exact rules on who would be allowed to discipline Greg, and the procedure to be followed. Wilson had a feeling he would be getting very familiar with that section of Greg's 'instructions'.

"You never go down there if you can help it. Why start now?"

Greg shrugged, "it was vegetable stew today, yummy!"

Greg hobbled to Wilson's couch, sitting down on it without waiting for permission.

"I'm here now, what did you want oh lord and master?"

This wasn't really how Wilson had envisaged their first day going, but he supposed he had to expect it - tagging a slave like Greg.

"Well, I had some dinner for you, too bad you've already eaten. Instead of that, you can tell me about your case, it must be keeping you busy, haven't seen you or the fellows around the office today."

There was a flicker of something in Greg's eyes, a break in the casual front he was presenting. Wilson sat down next to him on the couch, noticing how Greg flinched away.

"Patient is still alive, despite all his efforts. The boys think it's neurological, Cameron thinks it's something environmental. They didn't turn anything up at his house though. Cameron is hovering around his room, she thinks there's something going on with the wife. Or maybe she said she wanted to get something on with the wife - not sure."

Greg started to rub at his stump, fingers working away at the skin. Wilson went back over to his desk and fished out the bottle of ibuprofen.

"I was going to give these to you after you ate your dinner, I guess if you ate downstairs you can have them now."

Greg looked up at him with a hungry look in his eyes. The pills weren't addictive, there was no opiate component to them, but Wilson supposed that once you were an addict any pill was better than none - or maybe Greg honestly was in pain. Still, either way they would be useful.

He grabbed a bottle of water off his desk and sat back down next to Greg. Greg put his hand out for the pills but Wilson shook his head.

"Open your mouth, Greg."

Greg looked at him, eyes wide but after a moment's hesitation he opened his mouth wide.

Wilson slipped both of the pills onto his tongue. Greg quickly pulled back and swallowed them, coughing slightly as they went down. Wilson held the bottle of water up to his lips and he took some deep gulps before Wilson pulled it away.

"Tomorrow, you'll report to my office at six for your dinner, you will not go down to the slave canteen. If the case is over, or your patient is stable, I will either take you home for the night and cook you something there, or I'll have something in here for you. If you're going to be taking ibuprofen regularly I need to know that you have had a meal first. I don't want you eating or drinking anything I don't supply - we need to get you on a better diet."

He didn't think he needed to stress the link between Greg doing what Wilson wanted and the medication being given to him, Greg was smart, he'd quickly learn that if he co-operated things would go more easily for him. Once Wilson could persuade Cuddy to let Greg have some form of narcotics for his pain he would be even easier to control.

"Now, I want to check you over. Strip off, and stretch out on the couch."

Greg looked up at him, eyes going wide again, startled. Wilson waited, Greg had to realise who was in charge here.

"You've been 'disciplined' twice in the last few days, Farring took you home last night and did...whatever...to you. You haven't had anyone examine you since, I want to check you out. I also need to have a look at your stump, if you remember, Cuddy put me in charge of seeing to that. I told you Greg, I'm going to take care of you. You've been neglected and mistreated for long enough. I'm going to help you get healthy. Regular meds and therapy, regular meals and medical care. Now strip off."

He waited, he didn't want to have to call security and have them come back here with their cuffs and shackles but he would if he had to.

Slowly Greg slipped out of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his muscular shoulders and then stopping, frozen. Wilson sighed, going over to the couch.

"Lie down on your front, Greg. Let me see your back."

Greg rolled over, exposing his back to Wilson. There were some faded marks from where Farring had used a belt of Greg's back and shoulders, and brighter marks all over his back from where Farring had flogged him. There was no sign of infection, no inflammation. He had healed well, there would be a few more scars, but he was covered in those already so it hardly mattered.

Wilson ran his hands over the marks, he'd seen the belting but missed out on the flogging, although he'd been given an opportunity to treat the wounds after it happened. He'd thought then that Greg was coming around, that he would allow Wilson to comfort him but now he was acting as skittishly as he ever had. Such a stubborn slave.

"Stay there, Greg. I'll get some cream for that."

He retrieved a small tube of cream, it would do very little good medically but it was an opportunity to show Greg that he meant him no harm. He massaged the cream into Greg's back, enjoying the feel of the welts under his fingers, Greg made small sounds as he kneaded his shoulders. From the way he shifted his hips on the couch Wilson guessed he was getting aroused. Wilson was hard himself, just the sight of the fading marks, and the old scars had been enough to excite him. He hadn't even gotten to the leg yet.

"You like that, Greg?" he murmured in a soothing tone. "Feels good doesn't it?"

Greg squirmed under his hands, trying to get away, Wilson held him in place

"You ever hear of an involuntary physiological response to stimulation or did you skip that day in medical school? Let me up if you're done pawing me."

"Oh no Greg, not close to done yet." Wilson slipped his hands down to Greg's waistband and around, undoing his jeans and pushing them down his legs in one motion.

Greg grunted and tried again to roll away.

"You don't want me to have to call security do you Greg? I need to check you out, hold still and it will be over soon. I'm not going to hurt you."

Greg went still and Wilson rolled his underwear down.

One Greg's white ass were three vivid red marks, straight lines. There was another, across the top of his right thigh, above his stump. The sight of them made Wilson catch his breath.

"Turning you on is it Wilson? Cane marks on my ass?"

Wilson reached out to touch the marks. Greg flinched under his hands.

"Farring?"

"No, Chase decided to get fresh with the cane!" Greg said sarcastically.

"What did you do?" Wilson asked and then shook his head, "no, never mind, it doesn't matter, I'm sure you were just you. He won't be able to do that to you again Greg, I won't let him touch you again. He could have done you real damage with that one on your leg."

Wilson massaged some more of the cream into Greg's buttocks, by the time he was finished Greg was leaning into his touch, he smiled as he gently patted Greg. He would lay money that no-one had shown Greg any real care and affection since Stacy walked out on him, he needed this.

He reached over to his medical bag and took out a pair of gloves.

"Spread your legs a bit Greg, I need to examine you."

Greg jerked and moved his legs closer together.

"No."

Wilson sighed, he didn't know why Greg had to keep resisting, he just wanted to help him. "You might have tearing Greg, if he used you and was rough. Did he use you? Have you been bleeding?"

"No, no blood, no tearing. Leave it. Please Wilson, just leave it." Greg looked over his shoulder at him, eyes dropping to Wilson's groin. "I can take care of that if you want, let me sit up," he opened his mouth slightly, as if to demonstrate.

Wilson was tempted but he did want to check Greg out. He didn't want to be like the security guards that used Greg's mouth, just taking what they could get with no regard for the slave. He wanted Greg to realise he was different.

"I'll be quick Greg, just a quick look."

Greg stared at him and then dropped his head, turning around again and slumping into the couch, slowly he inched his legs apart.

Wilson lubed up and slipped a finger inside, there was some irritation to the skin but there was no tearing, at least Farring had taken care there. Greg moaned as he felt around, squirming his hips and Wilson smiled, yeah, Greg was enjoying this despite all his protests. He withdrew, noting Greg's exhalation of breath as he did so.

"Okay, now turn over and sit up."

Greg quickly complied. His cock was stiff, flushed with arousal. Wilson smiled at it and Greg looked away, his face tight. Wilson noticed with surprise that he was trembling.

Wilson ran his hand down Greg's right thigh and gently unwrapped the stocking on the stump. The skin around the wound was inflamed, the stump swollen.

"You haven't been taking care of this, or doing your exercises."

Greg looked back, glanced down at the stump and then looked away again.

Wilson looked more closely, there were faint bruise marks around the edge of the stump, finger marks from where a hand had been. Farring, it had to be, hurting Greg where he would be most vulnerable. He remembered the cane mark across the top part of the thigh, if Farring had hit any lower...

Without further comment he treated the skin with some of the cream and gently rewrapped the stump. Greg would get back on his proper rehab schedule tomorrow, and Wilson would check the stump daily and make sure it was healing well.

Maybe he should take Greg home tonight, keep an eye on him...

The harsh tone of Greg's pager sounded out, startling Wilson, he had forgotten that Greg still had a patient.

"It'll be the team, news on the patient, Wilson. I need to ring them." Greg said quietly.

Wilson passed him his office phone without further comment..

Greg was sitting on the couch, chest bare, jeans and underwear still pushed down around his ankles, cock erect, face flushed. Wilson reflected that it was a good thing the phone had no video pickup.

"Yeah, what's he doing now?"

Greg listened intently to the squawking from the other end of the phone, blue eyes alive with interest.

"I'll be right there, time someone had a little talk with Harry - I don't know how many times I've have to tell you, you can't trust a word they say."

He disconnected the call and looked at Wilson.

"I need to go, time to have a chat with our patient."

"I know Greg, I'm not going to interfere with your work, I already told you that. I need to get going anyway."

Greg pulled up his underwear and jeans, his erection quickly disappearing as he righted his clothes. He slipped on his t-shirt.

"Don't forget your roll-top if you're seeing the patient." Wilson reminded him, "come on, we'll go next door and get it."

In Greg's little cubbyhole of an office Wilson took the roll-top from him and slipped it over his head while Greg balanced on the edge of the desk. Wilson's fingers lingered on the collar, on the silver tag hanging from it with his name engraved on it. This was the end of their first day together. His first day with a tagged slave. Wilson was still achingly hard. He wanted to stay, to wait until Greg was finished with his patient and take him, here, in his office.

"Come on, I'll escort you up to the patient's room," he said instead.

Greg looked at him, his gaze flicking again at Wilson's groin and then away. He nodded shortly and picked up the crutches, steadying himself.

"Thanks," he muttered, not looking at Wilson.

Wilson walked him up to the fifth floor where the patient and the team were waiting, the whole way there he imagined that Greg was walking on the end of his leash, a step behind, head down and silently obedient. His slave, _his_.

* * *

_As always if you are enjoying the story I'd love to hear from you - many thanks to the anonymous reviewers from last time, I can't reply to you but your reviews are appreciated :)_


	4. Chapter 4

House thought that it was ironic that the patient did, in fact, turn out to have cancer. Albeit a rare, very well hidden form of cancer, but cancer nonetheless. If Wilson had still been around he could have passed the patient straight onto him, not that it would do Harry, or Bill, or whatever his name was much good. He'd wrack up a small mountain of medical bills and maybe stretch his life out for another two years or so. With any luck he would die before his family were forced to sell one of their number into slavery to pay off the bills.

It was just after midnight when they finally pinned it down, an epiphany brought on by something the patient's wife said. Once he explained it all the fellows caught on quickly and tests would confirm he was correct in the morning, but he knew he was. He should have felt a sense of triumph that he had once again solved a difficult case but instead he just felt exhausted. The last week had been one of the hardest since he had been enslaved, and that was saying something. Just the physical effort of getting around on the crutches was grinding him down, let alone the encounters with Farring, the punishments, and the tagging today.

Back in the conference room the fellows packed their bags up, Chase and Foreman heading out the door without a second glance. Cameron lingered, looking back at him where he was sitting in his little cubbyhole of an office, stripped bare of anything resembling comfort. She opened her mouth to say something and then slipped out of the door, only to return a couple of minutes later with a chocolate bar from the vending machine down the hall, and a fresh coffee. She placed them on his desk, smiled tentatively at him and then backed away as if he was a dangerous animal.

"Goodnight, Doctor House," she said, a little tremor in her voice.

He opened his mouth to say something cutting, to tell her she was a moron for caring but then shut it again. Instead he stared at her until she flushed and left.

He picked up the chocolate and went back to his bunk. Wilson still had his Ipod hidden away somewhere, so there would be no music, something he missed every day. He sat back on the bunk and sipped at his coffee and ate his chocolate bar.

He thought about the visit from Doctor Morton this morning, she had come down to warn him that his last patient had been discovered to be an escaped slave, and that officers from the SAC were about to find that out. When they obtained 'Stephens' medical records they'd see House's name on there as a consulting doctor. If they dug a bit further through the file they'd discovered that House had made a personal visit to their patient, early in the morning. There was no doubt that once they they realised he would be the first person they wanted to talk to about it. He shuddered and realised he was trembling at the thought. It had been sixteen years since he'd spent time in the Slave Administration Centre but those few weeks there had made a lasting mark on him, he'd never forgotten even a minute of his time there.

There was nothing he could do about it now, the only person who knew he'd guessed Stephen was an escaped slave was Stephen himself, and hopefully he'd be able to stay ahead of the SAC officers, maybe he'd even fled the country by now.

He put aside his cup, slipped back into the conference room and buried the chocolate wrapper in the trash can there, the cleaning slaves would empty it sometime during the night, it wouldn't be discovered.

Returning to his bunk he stripped off his clothes, folding them neatly by the side of the bed. He avoided looking down at himself as much as he could, he hated the sight of his right leg, or what was left of it. He hated that people like Farring, and even Wilson although he was less obvious about it, could get pleasure from looking at the stump. He hadn't liked the sight of the crater that had been his thigh for the last few years but this was a whole new thing, he felt the loss of his leg, as useless and pain ridden as it had been, every day. Every movement he made, every time he struggled upright, every time he needed to hang onto something to balance, every time someone took his crutches away and left him helpless, he hated it all. Most of all he hated that it was done without his knowledge and against his own wishes. He hated that his body no longer belonged to him, his life no longer belonged to him.

He hated being a slave.

He settled down on the bed, pulling the blanket around him, hiding the leg from his view. Desperately tired, he settled down to try to sleep but found his thoughts still racing, whichever way he tried to lie in the bed the collar rubbed against his neck, reminding him of its presence, the tag was irritating against his bare skin. He'd never wanted to be tagged again, not after Stacy. Stacy had tagged him because she had loved him, he was sure of that, they'd had five good years together, he'd wanted it to last forever but she had seen no future for herself with a slave. He hadn't been able to provide the home, the family that she had wanted. She'd torn off his tag and left him shattered.

Wilson had tagged him, because he _could_ see a future for himself with a slave, and it was a future he coveted. He wanted to own House, to control him, to have House available to do anything he desired. Being tagged by Wilson would give House a certain amount of protection, of security, and House knew that in his own way Wilson would indeed _care_ for him. But with Wilson House would never be allowed to forget that he was a slave.

* * *

Doctor Morton sat in her car and stared at the hospital she had grown to hate. Last night had been one of her 'special' nights with Doctor Farring. She had thought she would be safe for a while, that his evening with Greg would have sustained him for a bit longer, he rarely called on her services more than three or four times a month. She had thought that his wife would become suspicious if he spent too many evenings away from home. She was ashamed that she'd had a brief moment of hoping that maybe Greg would be tagged by Farring and he would never want her again. She had dismissed the thought as soon as it formed but still, she had thought it. She knew it shouldn't matter, Greg was a slave after all, there to be used by free people, but she'd met him, she'd seen the look in his eyes as he'd sat in the cut off jeans that exposed his stump.

The hotel was the usual seedy one, out of the way, nowhere either of them would be spotted by people they knew. The youth behind the desk had leered at them, recognising them by now, knowing that neither would spend the night. He had glanced at the pair of forearm crutches that Farring carried but made no comment. Farring had paid cash up front as usual and then they had gone upstairs. She had wondered if it was the same room he'd had with Greg the night before.

Farring never wasted much time with small talk, his time was limited and he usually wanted to get straight into the 'action'. She'd sat on the edge of the bed and undressed down to her underwear, then he'd watched eagerly as she shed the prosthetic part of her leg, leaving the stump behind. It was a below the knee amputation, much less severe than Greg's and as he stared at it eagerly, she had wondered whether he was comparing one to the other.

The night had proceeded much as all their nights did, she'd crutched around the room in her bra and panties and he'd stroked himself as he watched the 'show'. When they had sex it was as if he was having sex with a stump, it only incidentally mattered that there was a human being attached to the stump. The encounters never failed to make her feel dirty, used, less than human.

There had been one addition last night, just before she had started performing for him. He'd had her close her eyes, saying that he had a present for her. She'd stood frozen as he fumbled at her throat, fastening something around it. When she'd opened her eyes and looked in the mirror she saw he'd put a collar around her neck, a leather bondage one with four d-rings. A collar much like the one that Greg had, except his was plain metal. She looked like a slave.

Farring had stared at her, hunger in his eyes

"It suits you, you look good in a collar," he had said and handed her the crutches. She had wanted to tear the collar off, to run out the door. Instead she'd taken the crutches and circled the room for him. She needed her job.

She should get out of the car, go inside the hospital, start her day's work, pretend that she was just another doctor, a respectable human being and he was just her boss. She needed to get out of the car, she had to forget last night.

As she sat there she saw Doctor Wilson park up and go into the hospital. She wondered if she should warn him about the SAC officers, she felt like she should tell someone. Normally she would tell her boss, but with his obsession with Greg, and his anger at losing him, it hadn't seemed a good idea.

She was probably worrying unnecessarily, Greg hadn't seem disturbed. And Greg hadn't known their patient was an escaped slave, none of them had. They'd diagnosed Stephen, they'd done their job, they'd done nothing wrong.

* * *

Wilson arrived at the hospital before eight the next morning, Greg was due for his physical therapy at eight and Wilson intended to escort him down there. Greg had missed the last few sessions due to his work with Farring and his overnight stay at Farring's place. It was important that Greg kept up his physical therapy, both to strengthen the rest of his body for the extra burden it carried, and to improve his efficiency on the crutches and day to day living. Working with the residual limb would also help it keep in shape in case Cuddy ever approved Greg for a prosthetic. The security detail usually escorted Greg to therapy but Wilson had called and informed them he would be doing it instead, he was sure Greg would appreciate the change.

Greg was already getting up when he arrived, sitting on the side of his bunk and blinking back sleep. He was still naked, evidently having slept that way. Wilson glanced away but then looked back. Greg was his now, he could look at him whenever he wanted.

"Did you solve your case?"

"Yep. The big C - it's all yours, go make him miserable for a couple of years." Greg waved to the file sitting discarded on his desk. Wilson frowned, Greg was always insinuating that all his department did was prolong suffering.

"We do cure people occasionally you know," Wilson picked up the file and leafed through it, examined the scans. No, no cure there, Greg was right, as usual.

"Yeah and Jesus rose from the dead apparently but I'm not expecting a repeat of that any time soon. Harry is one of the walking dead, with or without you."

Wilson chucked the file back on the desk, he'd hand the case to Brown when he came in, the last thing he wanted was another dying patient.

"Come on, let's get you down to therapy, you can try out that sunny optimism of yours down there, see how they appreciate it."

Greg reached over to pull on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. He stood up and hopped over to his crutches, balancing himself on them. Dressed like that with his bare feet he looked like he could be any normal cleaning slave, slinking around the hospital trying to keep out of sight.

* * *

Physical therapy for slaves was conducted in the same large gym as it was for free people, but two hours before any free people started their sessions. The therapists were ones who had volunteered to work with slaves, for an additional payment. Each therapist carried a crop which they were free to apply to any slave who they felt wasn't putting in one hundred percent effort. They mostly dealt with hospitalised slaves or slaves needing therapy to recover from injuries, but they were also handy for treating the slaves the hospital owned.

Wilson looked around with interest as they arrived at the door of the gym. He'd never had much to do with physical therapy in his job. He'd arranged for many of his patients to receive it and has accompanied a patient or two down to their session but had never stayed. The impression he'd received had been of patients encouraging each other in their efforts, there'd been background music, a warmth even in such circumstances.

This room was quiet, the only sounds the shuffling and grunting of the slaves as they went through their exercises, there was no chatter, no calling out to one another, no sounds of encouragement. Wilson wasn't surprised that Greg wasn't enthusiastic, it was a grim atmosphere. The slaves heads hung down, collars stark against their skin.

It looked like the slaves were permitted clothing for their sessions, men and women alike were dressed in a t-shirt that was more grey than white and a pair of sorts, which more or less fit. As Greg entered he turned to a row of chairs by the door and struggled out of his clothes, reaching into a basket and sorting through it until he found a pair of shorts and t-shirt big enough for his frame. They were stained and smelly, Wilson wondered how often they were washed, he wondered if he would be permitted to buy Greg some new ones that would be his exclusively.

"You can go now, I'm a big boy - I think I'll be able to manage from here." Greg said to him, without turning in his direction, his gaze was fixed on an approaching therapist, his body stiff with tension.

"Doctor Wilson!" The therapist came up to him, barely glancing at Greg."I believe you have tagged Greg?"

"Er..yes, Doctor..."

The woman laughed.

"No, I'm not a doctor, you won't see too many of them down here at this hour. Greg, go and warm up on mat one, do your stretches and don't skip any or you'll feel my crop on your ass again. I'll be over in a minute when I've finished talking to Doctor Wilson."

Greg went off obediently enough, if lacking any enthusiasm, his own head hanging down.

"Emily Hawken," the woman put out her hand for Wilson to shake it. Her grip was firm, businesslike, Wilson noticed that she had a crop clutched in the other hand. "Thank you for bringing Greg down, he's missed a few days, it's very important that he keeps the therapy up. He's reluctant at the best of times, given any excuse he will duck out. It's for his own good but of course the slaves never really understand that."

"I'd like to stay and watch, so I can help Greg with his exercises if necessary. His work may sometimes mean he can't attend at the scheduled time, it would be good if I could run him through them at a more convenient time."

Emily frowned. "It really would be better if he attends here, there are a lot of techniques he needs to learn to be able to be more efficient. You could do the basic stretches and range of motion exercises I suppose."

"That's all I was thinking, I will try and ensure he attends as much as possible."

"Okay,come on then. But you need to let me lead the session, Greg needs a firm hand, he's very uncooperative, not like the other slaves we have through here, most of those are very compliant."

Greg looked startled when Wilson came over to the mat.

"You don't need to stay," he said flatly.

Emily flicked a glance at Wilson, raising an eyebrow, obviously expecting him to deal with this insolence. Wilson just smiled.

"I want to."

He stood back and watched as Greg was put through his paces, Emily was very businesslike, very thorough, Greg sweated and strained for the whole hour. Wilson watched him hungrily the entire time, taking in every muffled groan Greg let out, every grimace of pain and exertion, every movement he made. Throughout the session Wilson's tag dangled from Greg's collar, signalling to all who could see it - this slave was his.

Later, back in Wilson's office, Wilson let him rest on a couch while he gave him breakfast, little macadamia nut pancakes he'd picked up in the way in to the hospital. Then he popped Greg's pills into his mouth. Greg swallowed them gratefully with a sip of water.

This was a good start to Wilson's day, he was looking forward to doing the same thing tomorrow, and every day for a long time to come.

* * *

Doctor Cuddy's day was going very well, last quarters figures were looking very good. Greg had solved several cases involving wealthy people, at the rate the hospital charged his services out at he'd made the hospital a nice sum of money. Diagnostics was one department that ran very profitably, fellows didn't get paid much and of course Greg didn't require a salary, his cost was depreciated over twenty years but that was only a fraction of what he would have normally received. And because it was Greg there were none of the normal departmental head perks that would ordinarily apply. Sure he cost the hospital a little for meals (very little, Greg barely visited the slave canteen, Doctor Cuddy sometimes wondered what he lived on), a little more for maintenance costs and security costs but on the whole he was a very profitable for the hospital. Of course there were rumblings from the Board about 'that slave', some of the members just didn't like the idea of a slave practising medicine, but the more financially astute of them realised that the benefit of owning him far outweighed the cost. If that should ever change then of course the hospital had the option of selling him.

With Wilson having tagged him this also ensured that the Oncology department head wouldn't be looking for greener pastures anytime soon. Wilson was popular in medical circles and Cuddy knew that other larger hospitals were often approaching him to move. Cuddy had seen the look in his eyes when he stared at Greg and knew that it would now take a lot for him to change hospitals and lose Greg. She didn't understand it herself but she intended to use that to her advantage. Any improvement in behaviour that resulted from Greg being tagged would also be a nice bonus.

She signed off on the latest profit report and sat back. She had a few minutes to her next appointment, time for coffee and maybe a small cake.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her assistant entering her office, looking worried.

"Doctor Cuddy, those officers from yesterday are back, said it was very urgent that they see you. Oh..." she broke off as she realised the officers in question had followed her into the office.

"Thank you, we'll take it from here," one of them said, as both entered the room. The assistant looked at Cuddy helplessly and she sighed and waved her out of the room, it was so hard to find good assistants.

"I'm sorry, I've forgotten your names," Cuddy said pleasantly, although she hadn't.

They introduced themselves again, Reilly and Anderson. The female officer, Reilly, took the lead.

"Yesterday one of your doctors, Doctor Morton, identified the escaped slave as a former patient here, he was going by the name of Stephen. We've obtained the warrant for his medical records."

Reilly placed the form on Doctor Cuddy's desk and she picked it up and slowly read through it while her mind raced. Morton worked for Doctor Farring, and the last time she'd seen her it was to resolve a conflict between Greg and Farring. Why did she have this sinking feeling that this patient was the man the diagnostics team had been working on a couple of days ago? The court document was in order and there was nothing else she could do but pick up the phone and summon Doctor Morton to bring down 'Stephens' file.

When Morton arrived she looked nervous and on edge, immediately confirming to Cuddy that what she feared was correct. This was confirmed when Reilly took the file, flipped through it and focused on a particular entry.

"One of his doctors is a slave?"

Doctor Cuddy put her hand out for the file, pretending to scan the list of consulting doctors, as if more than one doctor in her hospital had that status.

"Yes, Doctor House, enslaved for debt sixteen years ago. He did consult on the case, but he rarely sees his patients in person, he probably never even met Stephen."

Reilly turned to Morton.

"You are listed as a doctor on the case as well, did this 'Doctor House' meet with 'Stephen'?"

Morton glanced at Doctor Cuddy, reluctance written all over her face but then she nodded, "yes, he did."

"Have him brought here, now," Reilly ordered Cuddy.

"Officer Reilly, this is a working hospital, Doctor House is no doubt busy, _I _am busy. None of the doctors on the case were aware that this patient was an escaped slave, if they had been they would have immediately reported it. You are, of course, welcome to interview the doctors at their convenience to see if they can help you with any inadvertent information this patient might have let slip..."

"Doctor Cuddy," Reilly interrupted, "escaped slaves are a very serious matter. The SAC is given a wide ranging authority to investigate every aspect of an escape. We will be talking to every member of your staff who had contact, or who might have had contact, with this escaped slave. We will prosecute to the full extent of the law anyone who had knowledge of his status. As for this 'Doctor House' of yours...There are certain characteristics that most slaves share, I find it hard to believe that another slave would not recognise his status. We will 'interview' this slave now, and find out the truth. I am sure you are aware of the penalties attached to anyone helping a slave escape, or to remain at large. Now, please produce this slave immediately."

Cuddy stared at them, and then glanced at Morton who was looking more uncomfortable by the minute, there was something there. She was left with no choice. She picked up the phone.

"Security, please have Greg brought to my office, urgently."

* * *

_A/N : Thanks for reading! As always if you have enjoyed the chapter I'd love to hear from you :) Anonymous reviewing is turned on :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning : There is a torture/interrogation scene in this chapter**

* * *

Doctor Morton watched Doctor Cuddy make the call to security with increasing anxiety. She wanted to leave, she didn't want to be here for this. She'd already implicated Greg, she didn't want to make it any worse for him. She wasn't sure what these officers were going to do to him but she knew she didn't want to watch.

"Doctor Morton, can you detail when 'Doctor House' met with the escaped slave - your 'patient'? Was he alone with him at any time?" Reilly's voice cut through her frantic thoughts and she turned to the woman.

"He visited the patient in the early hours of the morning, three days ago. His team had started the patient on a course of treatment in the evening. Doctor House visited the patient to check the patient's progress and confirm his diagnosis. The diagnosis was correct, the patient was much improved."

She left out any mention of her part in the visit. In truth, Greg had taken a great risk by taking off his ankle manacle and going to visit Stephen on his own initiative and against Farring's orders. She'd covered for him with security, saying it had been her idea. She didn't want to admit to that, it could lead to trouble for her and would definitely cause problems for Greg.

"Did he have any further contact with Stephen after that? According to the chart Stephen discharged himself in the morning two days ago so he was in the hospital for another day after 'Doctor House' saw him, were there any further meetings, with or without people present?"

Morton considered and then shook her head.

"No, Doctor House was confined to the conference room on that floor for the rest of the day, and then in the evening..." she glanced at Doctor Cuddy, unsure of how much she should say but the woman just stared at her with a neutral expression "...he wasn't in the hospital."

"He wasn't? Surely he stays here at night?"

"My boss, Doctor Farring took him with him for the night," she was oddly embarrassed to be saying this to the SAC officers. They would be under no illusions as to what she meant.

"Hmm, interesting. Your slave doctor is tagged by this Doctor Farring?" This question was addressed to Doctor Cuddy.

"No, Greg was tagged by another doctor in this hospital only yesterday morning, Doctor Wilson. Doctor Farring was merely given the use of the slave for the night, before he was tagged by Doctor Wilson."

"A popular slave, this Greg," Reilly commented drily.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the security guards with Greg. Morton glanced at him as he was pushed into the room. He was in a standard wheelchair, both wrists cuffed to the armrests of the chair and his one leg manacled to the footrest. The guard pushing the chair was larger than Greg, he was holding Greg's forearm crutches in one hand.

Morton looked at Greg's face and saw an expression of fear pass over it as he looked at the SAC officers, then all expression dropped and a frozen mask went up. She noticed that he was trembling slightly.

"Put him on the floor, please, and take his shirt off." Officer Reilly instructed the guard who glanced at Doctor Cuddy for confirmation. She nodded and the guard unlocked the cuffs and pushed Greg from the chair onto the floor. He couldn't kneel in the usual slave position of hands behind his back, his missing leg threw him off balance. Instead he used his hands to support himself in the required position. The guard roughly pulled his shirt off, his collar and tag stood out starkly against his pale skin.

From her position behind Greg Morton could see his back with the half healed lash marks, underneath the fresh marks were the scars of countless other beatings.

The guard was dismissed to wait outside with the chair and Morton wished she could follow him. Instead she took a few steps away, trying to fade into the background. Both of the SAC officers were focused on Greg. The male officer, Anderson, came to stand behind him, removing a baton from his holster and resting it on Greg's shoulder. The female office stood in front of him.

"What are you called, slave?" she asked, her tone cold.

Greg shuddered and his head dropped further but then he spoke in a soft, mild voice, so unlike his usual tones that Morton was startled to hear it.

"Ma'am, I am called Greg, ma'am."

"Look at me, Greg." Reilly waited until he had lifted his gaze. "Keep looking at me while I'm talking to you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Tell me about your patient, Stephen, from two days ago."

Greg responded with a crisp, clear detailing of their patient's medical history and diagnosis, including much of the information from the chart. Details that Morton would have had to look up were rattled off in a confident tone of voice, strikingly different from his other words only minutes before.

Reilly stopped him.

"I am interested in your contact with him. How many times did you visit him?"

"I saw him from outside his hospital room once - I was tethered outside - and after we had diagnosed him I visited him to check on his progress."

"Did you know he was an escaped slave?" Reilly asked calmly, slipping the question in without changing expression at all.

Morton saw Greg stiffen, although this news was no surprise to him. She'd told him herself just yesterday.

"I...I did not know that, ma'am. He wasn't wearing a collar, ma'am."

Reilly nodded to the officer behind Greg and he tapped Greg's shoulder blade with the baton. Greg jerked and yelped, trying to twist away but the officer followed him with the baton, holding it against his bare skin. The baton was electrified Morton realised, delivering a shock to the helpless slave. Anderson took the baton away after a couple of seconds and then rested it again on Greg's shoulder. Greg's breathing was loud in the quiet office. Morton looked at Cuddy, wondering if she would stop this but the Dean was merely watching with an expression of distaste.

Reilly pulled Greg's head up by his hair.

"Do not be insolent, Greg. Of course he wasn't wearing a collar. I asked you if you knew he was an escaped slave."

"N...No ma'am, I didn't know."

Reilly nodded again and Greg cringed even before Anderson shocked him again. The charge was longer and stronger this time and Greg staggered to one side. Anderson hauled him upright.

"I'll ask you again, Greg, tell me the truth this time. Did you know Stephen was an escaped slave?"

Greg gulped, trembling all over.

"Answer me, Greg."

There was silence and then Greg answered, almost in a whisper. "No, ma'am, I didn't know."

Before he was finished talking he was being shocked again, again he fell to one side, his body twitching. Morton noticed that there was a wet patch on his jeans, he'd wet himself.

"Is this necessary? Greg has told you he didn't know, he had barely any contact with the patient, there was no reason for him _to_ know. If you wish to continue this 'interview' I will need to summon Doctor Wilson, he has Greg tagged, he has the right to be present." Cuddy interrupted, in a bored tone of voice.

Anderson pulled Greg back into position, holding him upright when it was clear he could no longer support himself. The slaves hair was wet with perspiration, his breath ragged and harsh, his body shook constantly.

"I find it hard to believe that a slave would not recognise another slave instantly, especially a slave who is apparently intelligent enough to be operating as a doctor," Reilly insisted. She lent down to grasp a handful of Greg's wet hair and lifted his head up. "I said, keep your eyes on me, Greg."

"Greg has been having problems lately. We had to have his leg amputated as you can see," Cuddy waved a hand at Greg's leg. "He had been disciplined twice shortly before his encounter with this 'Stephen' - he would have been in some pain and distress, it is possible that he missed any signs that this 'Stephen' was a slave. Greg has had very little contact with other slaves since he was purchased by this hospital. He is isolated from the other slaves of the hospital due to his position as a doctor. It is very possible that he didn't realise this man was an escaped slave. Shortly after seeing the patient he was taken overnight by Doctor Farring. As Doctor Morton has indicated his time with the patient was very limited."

Reilly released Greg's head but he kept his eyes on her as ordered.

"Is what Doctor Cuddy says true, Greg?"

"Y..y..yes ma'am," Greg answered, cringing, but Anderson merely tapped his shoulder with the baton, not turning the charge on. "I..I..I didn't know, ma'am. I thought he was just another patient. I just wanted to diagnose him so I could get back to my office and away from..." he trailed off, seeming to realise his indiscretion, a slave was never supposed to show any distaste for the use free people made of them.

"Away from who, Greg?" Again the tap on his shoulder, Morton could see his whole body tensing with every tap of the baton against his shoulder.

"Away from Doctor Farring, ma'am - I didn't like working for him. He whipped me, twice."

Morton stared at the huddled slave on the floor, his meek and mild voice, whiny with complaint so different from the slave who had virtually told her to fuck off the day before when she'd tried to warn him about this.

"Is it your choice who you work for, Greg?" Reilly asked while Anderson tapped the baton on his back again.

"No, ma'am," Greg answered, hanging his head. Anderson slapped him on the back of his head to remind him to keep his head up.

"Is it your choice who fucks you, Greg?"

"No, ma'am." Greg looked her in the eye.

"And why not, Greg?"

"Because I'm a slave, ma'am."

"Yes, you are." Reilly nodded to Anderson who shocked Greg again, the baton held against his shoulder blade.

"Leave him alone!"

Morton didn't realise she was going to cry out until she had. All eyes except for Gregs were suddenly on her. This was just what she didn't want, she couldn't afford for anything to go wrong with her job. But she couldn't watch this any more, she shouldn't have to watch this.

Greg was lying on the ground, his body trembling, his breath coming in gulping sobs.

"I asked Greg to check on Stephen, when he saw the patient he was just doing what I had ordered, he was only in there for minutes. The guards came and restrained Greg, he was only in there long enough to monitor Stephen's progress on the drugs and confirm his diagnosis. He was doing his job. He was doing what he was supposed to. You don't need to torture him, he didn't know Stephen was a slave, none of us did - he fooled everyone."

Reilly looked at her and then down at Greg, she prodded the slave with the toe of her boot.

"Kneel up, slave."

Greg struggled to the kneeling position, his hands barely able to support him on the floor.

"I'll ask you again, Greg. Did you know Stephen was an escaped slave?"

"_I__ didn__'__t __know__._" Greg cried out, "Ma'am, I didn't know, I swear. Doctor Cuddy, please tell them I didn't know..."

"That's enough, Greg." Cuddy said to him sharply. She looked at Reilly, glancing at her watch. "If you have finished 'interviewing' Greg perhaps you could move on? I have another appointment in a few minutes and Greg needs to get back to work, he is a very expensive slave and we need to get full value from him."

Reilly knelt in front of Greg, pulling his head up again. "We will be talking to everyone who had contact with the patient, and everyone who had contact with you during the time Stephen was here. You may go back to work but we haven't finished with you." She released her hold on Greg's hair and his head sunk down again. "Doctor Cuddy I must ask that this slave be confined to the hospital during the investigation."

"Of course, I will inform Doctor Wilson. Doctor Morton, could you please go with Greg back to Diagnostics, get him cleaned up and checked out before he starts work again."

Morton nodded, looked around the room and fetched Greg's crutches, bringing them over to him. She stood one of the crutches up and he used it to haul himself to his feet. The wet patch in the crotch of his jeans was plainly visible and he glanced at it and then away. She handed him his shirt and he slipped that over his chest, covering up the scars.

Slowly Greg crutched to the office door, giving both Reilly and Anderson a wide berth, his knuckles were white on the grips of the crutch. Morton followed him, glancing back to see the others all watching them.

House couldn't stop trembling as he made his way out across the floor of the hospital. It was all he could do to stay upright and balanced on the crutches.

"Are you okay, Greg? Do you need a wheelchair?" Morton asked, hovering worriedly beside him. He could tell that the scene inside Cuddy's office had disturbed her. It had actually gone better than he expected. They hadn't taken him away for questioning at least. His meek and mild act had seemed to placate them somewhat. It hadn't taken much acting to appear to be frightened out of his wits, just the sight of those uniforms again...his mind flashed to a cold sterile place, full of caged naked slaves, and people in those uniforms. People who treated the slaves as nothing more than furniture, objects to be used.

He didn't answer Morton's question, kept making slow progress towards the lifts. She followed him and when they entered the lift he slumped against the side wall.

"You didn't tell them that it was my idea to visit Stephen," he remarked, keeping his tone mild.

To his amusement she flushed.

"I lied about that at the time, if I say anything now..."

"Don't worry, I'm not about to say anything. They might get rough with me."

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open slightly and he barked a harsh laugh.

"Slave joke."

When they arrived back on the diagnostics floor she followed him down the corridor, and back to his office. As they got to the door of the office Doctor Wilson came out of the office next door, scanning a piece of paper in his hands. He looked up and caught sight of them, frowning as his glance flicked to Doctor Morton. House saw that possessive look flash across Wilson's face and then smooth over.

"Doctor Morton, what can we do for you?"

Before she could answer House intervened.

"Cuddy sent her with me to make sure that the goons who just tortured me haven't done any permanent damage, but maybe you'd like to check me over instead? Sir." He added sardonically.

Wilson stared at him, seemed to take in his dishevelled trembling appearance, the wet patch on the front of his jeans.

"Shame you couldn't have been there, you would have enjoyed it." House added, turning to go into his office. He didn't look back. He knew Wilson would follow.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, if you are enjoying the story a review would make my day :)_


	6. Chapter 6

Doctor Cuddy was pleased that she'd managed to get Doctor Morton out of her office without the SAC officers stopping her. It was obvious to her that the doctor was lying about something involving Greg and the escaped slave. She wasn't sure what but the less time Morton spent in the company of the officers the better. Greg was an expensive hospital asset, one of the prime reasons that PPTH was no longer the obscure teaching hospital it had been when Cuddy first joined the staff. Cuddy's rise up the hospital hierarchy had been greatly aided by her purchase of such a talented slave, and she had no wish to see him taken away or permanently harmed by the SAC.

The scene in her office had been unpleasant, but if that was all that happened she would be pleased. Greg hadn't been severely injured and it didn't hurt for him to have an occasional reminder of just how well treated he was here at PPTH and to realise that he really was just a slave, no better than any of the other slaves the hospital owned. She'd had to give him special privileges over the other slaves to enable him to do his job properly, and certain freedoms that were unusual for a slave. At first Greg had seemed to appreciate what she was doing for him but over the years his attitude had changed and he'd become increasingly hard to handle. Sometimes he needed a quick sharp shock to remind him of his place, and the SAC officers had certainly provided that.

"We'll need to interview everyone who had any contact with 'Stephen'. He may have let something slip about his current whereabouts, or his plans for the future. There are other doctors beside the slave listed on his medical file, we will start with them."

Cuddy nodded. "You are welcome to talk to anyone you need to, but please remember that this is a hospital, and all our staff are doing important work - patient care can't be disrupted."

"If you have a small office we can use we will get on with the interviews and be done quickly. We'll work around your people's schedules as much as possible. If we need to talk to Greg again we will inform you, it may have to be a formal interview back at our offices if we think he is implicated in this."

"I'd prefer he not be taken off the premises if it's possible, we do have facilities here that you can use, down in the basement. Please bear in mind that Greg is a very expensive slave, any loss of capacity due to your 'interviewing' him will be taken seriously by this hospital."

"Of course, he's not our property, I'm aware of that. But you should be aware that the SAC do have wide ranging powers over the discipline of all slaves, up to and including a compulsory recall of a defective or dangerous slave for retraining. It looks like you have found it necessary to have Greg whipped quite often. Regardless of the outcome of this investigation you should consider a period of retraining for him, it proves quite effective and the charges are very reasonable. It is usually recommended after a significant event - such as the amputation of a slaves' leg which you mentioned occurred quite recently."

"I will consider it." Cuddy replied, it was an option she was aware of, but also one she was reluctant to have Greg undergo. As annoying as the slave could be at least he was a known quantity at this stage. She had no idea how he would behave after a period of retraining, he could be rendered ineffective at his job for some time. Holding the position he did in the hospital did require some independent thought, something which would surely be discouraged at any slave training facility. Any retraining would be a last resort before selling him.

She made the arrangements for Reilly and Anderson to have access to a small office on the first floor, near the Internal Medicine department where Stephen had been a patient. Then she ushered them out of her office and breathed a sigh of relief when they had gone. She looked distastefully at the carpet where Greg had been kneeling, she would make a note to have the cleaning slaves clean the whole carpet thoroughly tonight.

* * *

Wilson followed Greg into his office, frowning at Doctor Morton when she trailed behind them.

"Thank you Doctor Morton, I will see to Greg from here."

"Doctor Cuddy asked me to make sure he was checked out and cleaned up," she explained, "the SAC officers were very rough with him."

"The SAC? What did they want with Greg?"

Morton glanced at Greg and then back at Wilson, she seemed reluctant to answer for some reason but Greg was staring at the floor so Wilson kept looking at her and finally she told him.

"You remember the patient Greg had while he was with Doctor Farring? Apparently he was an escaped slave, the SAC wanted to know if Greg knew anything about it."

Wilson looked at Greg, who was still studying the carpet. Wilson had had only minimal contact with Greg during his stint in Internal Medicine a few days ago but he'd seen Greg chained to a chair in a conference room, closely supervised. It seemed unlikely that he was involved in anything to do with an escaped slave but this was Greg so anything was possible.

"Sit down, Greg." Wilson pointed to the chair in Greg's office and watched as Greg slowly eased himself down, he was obviously hurting. His jeans were wet at the crotch, whatever the SAC had done to him had caused him to wet himself. He should have been informed if any disciplinary action was being taken against Greg, by anyone. Greg was his responsibility now and he didn't take kindly to be cut out of the loop. He should have been there.

"Did you know your patient was an escaped slave?" Wilson asked Greg and Greg seemed to flinch. He put his head up and stared at Wilson.

"No, I didn't know. If I had I would have turned him in to Cuddy, or Farring. I'm not going to risk my life for some idiot slave."

"Doctor Wilson, Greg needs some medical care, the SAC officer was shocking him with an electrified baton, on his shoulder. He may have burns there."

Wilson was envisaging the scene, Greg being questioned and then shocked with a baton, his body falling to the ground, twitching, losing control of his bladder as he spasmed on the ground. Wilson should have been there. He was annoyed that Morton had apparently witnessed it while he had not. Greg was _his_.

"Take off your shirt, Greg." Wilson instructed his slave. Greg looked up at Doctor Morton and seemed to hesitate. Wilson rolled his eyes, it wasn't like Morton hadn't seen him with his shirt off before. "Now, Greg. I need to check you out."

With seeming reluctance Greg took his shirt off and Wilson had him lean forward in the chair. There were some light contact burns on his shoulder blade, the SAC officer must have been using quite a high setting on the baton. Wilson ran a hand over one of the burns, feeling Greg twitch and flinch beneath him.

"Easy Greg, not going to hurt you, just want to see how bad it is." Wilson ran one hand over Greg's short sweat soaked hair, trying to calm him down but Greg continued to try and move away.

"Maybe I could do it Doctor Wilson, Doctor Cuddy did ask me to check him over," Morton said tentatively, glancing at Greg with a worried expression.

Wilson held Greg firmly in place on the chair and turned to Morton. He didn't need some stranger telling him how to treat Greg.

"Thanks for seeing Greg back here Doctor Morton but I've got it from here, I'm sure you've got work to be getting on with." He made his voice sharp, authoritative - he outranked Morton in the hospital hierarchy, as well as having Greg tagged, Greg was none of her concern.

Morton wavered, looking again at Greg. Wilson didn't know why she kept looking at him, as if it was Greg's choice whether she stayed or not. Greg glanced at her briefly and then away and she shrugged.

"Okay, I'll leave you with him Doctor Wilson. Greg, I...I hope you feel better soon."

"One good thing about torture, it's great when they stop," Greg said in a tired voice, no spark in the comment, instead he sounded resigned. "Go on, hop along, Wilson wants to drool over my injuries in private."

Wilson felt a surge of anger towards Greg, he had nothing but the best of intentions towards the slave, had promised that he would take care of Greg and this is how he was repaid - with snide comments. He didn't want it getting around the hospital that he was turned on by the pain suffered by his slave, he had barely come to terms with it himself.

Morton looked at both of them uncertainly but left without further protest. Wilson turned back to Greg to find him slumped in the chair, slight tremors running through his body. His eyes were closed and he looked desperately tired and vulnerable like that. Wilson wanted to hold him tight and protect him from those who would harm him. Quietly he went over to his desk and took out the first aid kit, returning to Greg to treat the minor burn on his shoulder.

"They had no right to question you like that, without me being there, I would have stopped them." he reassured Greg. "If they want to talk to you again let them know that they need to inform me first."

There was no reply, but Wilson hadn't expected one.

"I'll talk to Cuddy as well. She shouldn't have let this happen."

Wilson finished treating the shoulder burn and put a patch over the spot. He looked Greg over but aside from the burn he didn't seem to have suffered any other injuries. Even the trembling was subsiding. Wilson wrinkled his nose as he caught a faint whiff of urine.

"You'd better go get a shower and get changed out of those jeans. Cuddy let me know that she wants you back in the clinic for the evening shift. I'm taking you home with me tonight..."

Wilson broke off as Greg shook his head.

"The SAC told Cuddy that I wasn't to be taken off the premises until their investigation was finished. Sorry." Greg finished, not sounding at all sorry.

Wilson frowned at the news. He'd been excited about taking Greg home with him, he needed to show the slave that he meant him no harm, quite the opposite. He wanted to show Greg that he could be kind and considerate, to provide a contrast to Farring's treatment of Greg when he had taken the slave home.

"That's ridiculous, you don't know anything about this slave. You were chained to a chair in that conference room the entire time for god's sake! "

Greg looked away and shrugged. "Not my choice. At least they didn't shove me in a van and take me away."

Wilson stared at him, eyes wide. He wondered how close Greg had come to that. His stomach clenched at the thought of losing Greg just when he'd finally tagged him. He reached out and touched the tag hanging from Greg's collar, ignoring the slave's jerk away from his touch.

"You're mine, no-one's taking you anywhere."

* * *

Reilly entered the small office they had been assigned for their investigations, she'd briefly met the head of Department - a Doctor Farring who was also listed as one of Stephen's doctors. Anderson was out on the floor, searching the room Stephen had been in, as well as the surrounding areas, and also any areas of the hospital his parents might have visited. While he was doing that he would be having informal chats with the personnel on this floor. People were often more likely to open up, or reveal tidbits of information they didn't think were important, during a normal conversation, rather than a formal interrogation. For one moment Reilly wished they could use the techniques they'd used on the slave, Greg, on the rest of the staff. She put the thought aside, due process must be followed, people must be treated with respect.

She wanted to do a little research on the slave who, absurdly enough, was apparently a doctor. Every inch of her training was offended at the idea of a slave doing such a job, slaves were best in menial jobs, doing hard labour, freeing up actual people for more complex occupations. It was a mistake to allow a slave, whatever their former profession, to have any degree of responsibility or autonomy. The Center trained most of the slaves in the system, and turned them out as perfectly obedient and compliant pieces of living equipment, waiting to be used in whatever capacity their owners desired. And then people like Doctor Cuddy ruined them.

She'd seen all the whip marks on Greg's back, far too many. Most slaves were disciplined by the occasional application of a cane, or a crop or even a paddle. Whippings were reserved for major offences. A slave that needed to be whipped that many times was defective, and should have been returned for retraining. After that he would have been sold to a hard labour company where he would have been closely supervised for the rest of his working life, which was unlikely to be very long given the hazards of the work. Instead he had been allowed to stay in the one place, and continue to be a discipline problem, setting a bad example for all the other slaves in the hospital.

Turning to her laptop computer she quickly did a google search on the slave's name as noted on Stephens medical records. Her eyes widened as she read through the first few articles that appeared. It seemed that 'Doctor House' was well known in the medical community. He had many journal articles attributed to him, and was noted as being the leading authority in the field diagnostics, which it appeared he had more or less established as a speciality by himself. The articles also noted that he was very reclusive, never appeared at medical conferences and was almost impossible to contact. All contact had to go through Doctor Cuddy's office at PPTH.

Reilly was surprised that nowhere in the articles was it mentioned that 'Doctor House' was a slave. There were even some mentions of the man, in personal blogs, by his former patients, and none of them revealed the fact, some even noted that they had never met the man who was treating them. Doctor Cuddy and PPTH obviously went to some lengths to ensure that the outside world did not learn the truth about their prized Diagnostic department. Reilly also discovered that the reputation of PPTH almost solely rested on the shoulders of the Diagnostic Department, without that department they would be yet another small teaching hospital, unknown outside of the immediate neighbourhood.

Reilly sat back in her chair. So this slave was highly intelligent, and possibly the leading diagnostician in the world. Yet somehow he had totally missed the fact that he had recently been treating an escaped slave. Interesting.

She picked up Stephen's medical file and studied it, comparing it to the two files she had on him - one from the Centre where he'd been trained as a slave, and one from his previous owner. His owner had noted that his slave had been receiving Ronixymin, an experimental drug that had passed animal testing and was now being tested on slaves. The slave wouldn't have known what he was receiving of course, it was important for trials to be blind to the participants if possible. His owner would have told him it was vitamins, or just mashed it into his food, much as Reilly did when she fed her dogs their tablets.

Reilly had read a memo about the drug a few weeks back, they'd found that it could have adverse affects if taken in conjunction with acetimonophen. When Reilly read his medical file she could see that it was likely he had been suffering those adverse affects. The doctors here wouldn't have known what was wrong with him, wouldn't have known what Ronxymin was, or the side effects, and even if they had they wouldn't have known that 'Stephen' was a slave who had recently been taking the drug. It was little surprise that they had put their diagnostic expert on the case.

It appeared that the doctors here had muddled through the case somehow, the Ronxymin side effects would have subsided by themselves, provided that the physical symptoms were treated. There was a diagnosis entered on Stephen's chart - Reilly was not a doctor so she arranged for the details to be forwarded to the doctors at the SAC who were dealing with the Ronixymin trial, they would have a look at the chart and see if there was anything untoward there.

In the meantime she thought she would have a longer chat with Doctor Farring if she could, he had taken Greg home for the night just before Stephen fled the hospital, and after Greg had met the patient. It might just be a coincidence, but Reilly intended to find out.

* * *

While Greg was in the shower getting cleaned up Wilson had contacted an indifferent Doctor Cuddy and complained to her about Greg's mistreatment at the hands of the SAC officers. She had been dismissive of his complaints, stating that no harm had come to Greg, and that the SAC officers were quite entitled to interrogate him. Wilson had made it clear that he expected to be notified if there was to be any more 'interrogation' (torture, he said sharply to Cuddy) of _his_ slave. Doctor Cuddy had reminded him that Greg was only _his_insofar as the hospital had allowed him to tag its property. Greg still belonged to the hospital, which had all legal rights over him, he could be used in any way the hospital wanted, even sold if they wanted to sell him, in which case Wilson's tag would be removed without a second thought. Wilson had felt his insides clench at the thought of losing Greg, but had calmly asserted that until that time he still had the right to know what was happening with the slave and to be present if he was in any sort of trouble.

He was not convinced that Doctor Cuddy was taking his concerns seriously enough but she did at least concede to call him if the SAC wanted to see Greg again, he guessed that was the best he could hope for. He was not pleased that he hadn't known anything about this turn of events, and that Doctor Morton had been present for Greg's interrogation, and he had not. The female doctor was an amputee, as Greg was, and he didn't want her thinking that she had any special interest in him because of that. Wilson hadn't even known who she was until she called him up to 'consult' with Greg, now she seemed to be everywhere. He'd already started probing into her background but clearly he would have to do more.

He glanced at his watch, Greg should be finished showering by now. He'd probably retreated to his little cubbyhole next door. Wilson stood up, pocketing a packet of pain killers from his desk. He'd go down to the cafeteria, fetch some lunch for both of them and go and feed his slave. Afterwards he'd let Greg have the painkillers, he must be in pain from the attentions of the SAC. It was a shame he wouldn't be able to take Greg home with him tonight, but he intended to keep a very close eye on him during the day.

* * *

Greg stood under the shower spray, letting the hot water run over him. There was a grab bar on the wall and he hung onto that, his body exhausted from what had been done to it by that SAC bastard. As he closed his eyes and remembered the scene he began trembling again. He knew that what they had done to him was only the tip of the iceberg, if they ever had any evidence that he knew about Stephen then they would...his mind froze up, supplying images of cages, of manacles, of being strapped down helpless. He turned his head to one side and threw up what little food he'd had that day.

He put his hand to this throat and felt the collar there, over fifteen years and he'd never gotten used to having the thing around his throat, seeing it in the mirror. Now he felt the tag Wilson had put on it. He hated that tag, he hated that someone could do that to him - claim him as if he was a pet. He hated that he'd had to ask Wilson to do it, to protect him from Farring. He hated how much Wilson loved it, loved owning him. He wished...he wished that it could be his choice, that he could have a choice. In a different reality maybe he would have chosen Wilson, maybe instead of slave and owner, they could have been friends, even lovers. Now that would never be possible.

As much as he hated the tag though, he was glad to have it now. It wasn't much protection, but it was a thin shield standing between him and the SAC. The tag meant that someone in this hospital would give a damn if he was interrogated, if he was hurt, if he was taken away.

It meant that someone cared what happened to him. And just for this brief moment in time Greg didn't care what their motive was, it was just enough to know that he mattered to someone. He wasn't alone.


End file.
